


Two Way Street

by bigsoftboy



Series: Living Free [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blind Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Medical Care, Sequel, Service Dogs, Slice of Life, Teacher Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, surgery aftercare, top surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29616867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsoftboy/pseuds/bigsoftboy
Summary: “You’re sure?”“I’m sure,” Jon said gently. “Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. This is about you.”“Okay.”-A look into the lives of Jon and Martin four years after escaping the Eye.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Living Free [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077437
Comments: 24
Kudos: 324





	Two Way Street

**Author's Note:**

> _Reading the original fic is not required but highly recommended. All you really need to know is that Jon blinded himself and they're living normal lives pretty much._
> 
> Hello everyone! Here's the follow-up to Anchored I promised! It's short but full of fluff which I feel is sorely needed given the state of canon at the moment.
> 
> **Please check the endnotes for content warnings.**

When Jon hears the tell-tale sounds of Martin stirring, he sits up in his hospital chair. 

“Jon?” 

Jon smiles. “I’m here, love,” he says softly. “How do you feel?”

Martin grumbles quietly. “Hurts… wha’s goin’ on?” he mumbles. Jon hears him shift, followed by a sharp inhale.

“Try not to move too much, you’ll tug on your drains,” Jon says gently, reaching out and taking his hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “You just got out of surgery.”

“It’s done?” Martin asks in an awed whisper. 

He’s still hopped up on the anaesthesia, and Jon knows he’ll enjoy teasing him about it afterwards. After all, he’s lorded the video Georgie took of him reciting Hamlet after _his_ surgery over Jon’s head more times than he can count at this point. Now it’s _his_ turn to indulge in some playful teasing.

“It’s done,” Jon confirms, and he feels Martin squeeze his hand tightly.

“Wow, I—” Martin says, words catching in his throat. “I can’t believe… ’s _really_ done?”

“Everything went as planned and the surgeon seems happy with your results,” Jon soothes, pulling his chair closer to Martin’s bedside. “You might be at risk of dog ears but we already knew that. We just need to monitor it.”

“Been… ‘s been _years_ ,” Martin says, choked up. “Wanted this since I was… since I was _thirteen_.”

“Would you say it was worth the wait?”

“Well, would’ve been nice if the bloody NHS gave me a consultation sooner.”

Jon snorts. “Yes, that’s very fair,” he says, smiling. “Are you feeling alright, though?”

“Feel on top of th’ world,” Martin muses. “Like I could kill a god… again.”

“ _Martin_.”

“No, you’re right. Jonah w’s never a proper god, was he?”

Jon smacks the back of his hand lightly and Martin giggles.

“Alright you cheeky bastard, careful when the nurses come back in.”

“What, don’t want me admitting to murder?”

“ _No_ , I’d rather you not!”

Martin hums. “How long was it?” he asks. “Only feels like it’s been a minute or so.”

“About three hours, I think,” Jon says. “You’ve been in here about ten minutes.”

“Can we go home?” Martin asks, shifting slightly. “Where’s Cooper?”

“He’s right here,” Jon says, reaching down to pet him where he’s resting under his chair. “Come say hello. Up!”

Once Jon hears the telltale jangle of collar tags, Jon gives the command “go to Martin,”. Cooper’s nails click against the tile floor as he approaches Martin’s bedside. 

“Hello there,” Martin says softly. “Good boy.”

“They’ll probably want to check a few things, but I can take you home as soon as you feel up to moving,” Jon says. “Anaesthesia can make you feel a bit nauseous when you stand up. You may also want to use the toilet before we go.”

“Mmm, I’m a bit woozy sitting up, probably best to wait a bit.”

“Whatever you need.”

* * *

When Martin had first received his date, he’d been dismayed. Not because of the surgery itself—no, that had been long-awaited and finally getting a date was phenomenal. It was the date itself that presented difficulties.

“Really, it had to be _right before_ classes start!”

“It’s fine, Martin, really.”

“Maybe I can call and ask if they have a slightly later date—”

“No,” Jon had said sharply. “You’ve been on the waitlist for nearly three years, Martin, I’m not letting you push it back further on my behalf.”

“I don’t want you to have to miss your first week because of me, Jon.”

“I won’t have to,” Jon had reassured him. “You only need constant supervision for the first few days. Once classes start I can put things where you can reach them before I leave. If any emergencies come up, you can call me.”

“But it’s a new job, I don’t want you to have to split your attention between that and taking care of me.”

“ _Martin_.”

After a moment, Martin had sighed. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Jon said gently. “Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. This is about you.”

“Okay.”

* * *

The trip home goes without a hitch. Martin is wheeled out to their taxi, and he ends up falling asleep on the drive back. The closest surgeon they could manage was in London, so it takes them an hour to get back to their flat.

They’d moved to Wokingham earlier that year after Jon had accepted a position there teaching Year 11 English. His job search had been unfortunately drawn out, despite his first from Oxford. 

Jon is confident in his ability to work with accessibility features enough that he knows they won’t hinder his efficiency, but many schools seemed a bit hesitant to hire a blind teacher, especially one with no prior teaching experience, or claimed to lack the facilities to accommodate him. This job, however, had happened to open up and they’d been very open to working with him, explaining that they had another blind teacher who had retired a couple of years back and would have no problem providing him with the accommodations he requested.

One such accommodation is Cooper. He’d decided to apply for a guide dog about a year after everything with the Institute. He figured that having a guide dog would aid him significantly in working, and generally make commutes much easier and safer. It had taken about six months before he was paired with Cooper. The three-year-old golden retriever is obedient, calm, and focused when on the job, though as soon as the harness comes off, he’s just as affectionate and playful as any other dog. 

Jon has always been more of a cat person, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a soft spot for dogs. He also can’t deny the joy that Cooper brings to their home. He adores how well Cooper gets along with Martin, who positively swoons over him.

Overall, the past couple of years have been the calmest in either of their lives and for the first time he can recall, Jon doesn’t feel as if some great evil is awaiting him just around the corner.

Upon arriving at home, Jon gently rouses Martin, much to his discontent. Martin loosely holds Jon’s arm as Jon guides them up the front walk to their house. Once inside, Martin quickly makes his way to the reclining chair they’d purchased ahead of the surgery as Jon goes about removing Cooper’s vest.

“Need anything?” Jon asks, retrieving his cane from where it rests beside the door. “Water, paracetamol, a snack?”

“Some shut-eye would be brilliant,” Martin says as he sits down, letting out a sigh. “Though maybe some paracetamol and water would be nice before I conk out.”

Jon smiles. “Will do,” he replies before making his way to the kitchen, Cooper on his heels. 

* * *

“Why’s the vest got to _slip_ like that all the time?” Martin complains for the umpteenth time as he returns from the toilet, and Jon rolls his eyes.

“Take it up with gravity,” he replies lightly.

“Doesn’t matter how tightly I do the velcro, it just starts falling down _every_ time I get up.”

“Yes, I remember it well, not really much to be done about it.”

Martin huffs, sitting back down in his chair. Then he hisses, and Jon raises an eyebrow, on alert.

“You alright?”

“Fine, fine, tugged a drain on accident,” Martin says bitterly. 

Jon holds himself back from chuckling. “Top surgery turned you into a cranky old man in his armchair, has it?” he teases. “Would you like me to put on one of your soaps, dear? Maybe some knitting to complete the picture?”

“Oh, don’t you start,” Martin says, but Jon can hear the smile in his voice. “Could actually go for that, though. Minus the knitting, I don’t think I have the brainpower for that right now.”

“As you wish, love.”

* * *

Jon leans against the front of his desk as students file into the classroom, doing his best to seem relaxed despite how his heart is racing. He’s been prepared for this for over a year now, but training can never live up to the acute anxiety brought on by reality. He fidgets with his spinner ring, vaguely paying attention to the scattered conversation as the classroom fills. 

The bell sounds and Jon takes a deep breath before clearing his throat. The room goes silent almost instantly, catching Jon slightly off guard.

“W-well, I’ll hold off on role for a moment to let any stragglers find their way in,” Jon says, willing his heart rate to slow enough for him to not make a complete prat of himself. “I suppose introductions are in order.

“You can all call me Mr Sims, and I will be your English teacher for this year,” he says, beginning to relax slightly. “I am new to the school and teaching as a whole, so I hope you’ll afford me some patience these first couple weeks.”

The room remains silent, so Jon takes that as his cue to continue, fighting down his lingering nerves. He’s practised this introduction with Martin more times than he can count, he knows what he’s doing. 

“I know that I probably look a lot different than a lot of your previous teachers, in more ways than one,” he says with a nervous chuckle, aiming for a bit of levity. He’s met with more silence. He gulps. “I assure you that while I may have to do certain things a bit differently, it shouldn’t have much of an impact on the course material or what you get out of the class. I may take a little longer on names than your other teachers, and I ask that when getting my attention you say my name as well as identifying yourself until I start to learn your voices.

“You may have noticed my assistant, Riley, who will be joining us this year. She’ll be aiding me with things such as grading, notes, as calling on raised hands. Again, I ask that you identify yourself before speaking in class.”

Jon walks around his desk, bending down to grab hold of Cooper’s lead. He gently commands him up before walking him out in view of the students. An excited murmur passes through the class, a couple of students audibly cooing, and Jon smiles.

“This is my guide dog, Cooper,” Jon says. “He will also be joining us this year, though he’ll be under my desk for the most part so as not to be a distraction.”

“Emily?” Riley calls, and Jon smiles.

“Can we— sorry, hi, I’m Emily Walker,” a timid voice calls from the back of the classroom. “Can we pet Cooper?”

“That’s dependent on the circumstances,” Jon says. “Generally, the answer is no as he’s a working dog and pets can distract him from his job. If we’re in a more casual setting and speaking one-on-one, I may allow it, but you always have to ask me first.”

“Right, thank you!” 

“Preston?”

“Right, I’m Preston Langley,” a deeper voice from the front of the class says. “What’s with all the scars?”

As soon as the question is posed, Jon hears a collection of other students hiss variations of “ _Shut it!_ ” and “ _Preston!_ ” while other students go deathly quiet. Jon sighs, having expected something like this, though maybe not directly to his face.

“That’s a rather personal question, Mr Langley,” he says. “I’m not about to go into details about the various injuries I’ve incurred over the past few years but I will say I’ve had a number of unfortunate encounters that have left their mark. In the end, no aspect of my appearance should be of your concern. We’re here to learn and how I look should be inconsequential to that goal.”

“Right, sorry…”

“Any other comments we’d like to get out of the way?”

The classroom stays silent.

“Very well then, I’ll have Riley pass out the syllabus and we’ll spend the rest of class going over that,” Jon says, returning to sit at his desk. “Oh, and one more thing! My partner has recently had a medical procedure so I may need to step out to take calls from time to time. If that happens, Riley will remain in the room to ensure that you remain quiet and continue with your work.”

He hears the shuffling and scattered conversation as papers are passed throughout the room, and he allows Cooper to return to his padded area under his desk. He settles into his seat and pulls out the braille copy of the syllabus he’d pre-prepared as reference.

“Now, let’s get started, shall we?”

* * *

“Careful—!”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Jon soothes, carefully dragging his pinched fingers down the length of Martin’s drain while he holds the drain in place with his other hand.

They’ve already done this a couple of times, so Martin knows he’s not going to tug, but Jon himself never truly overcame that nervousness back when he had to clear his own drains.

“Everything in the bottle?”

“Yeah, looks good,” Martin confirms.

Jon carefully unscrews the bulb and passes it off to Martin, who then squeezes out the contents into the measuring container. Even after a decade, Jon still remembers this process well.

“Looks like it’s at thirty-four millimetres.”

“Not bad for only a few days out,” Jon remarks, leaning back in his chair. “You’ll probably get yours out the first check-up.”

“Did you not?”

“I wish,” Jon snorts. “Took me two bloody weeks because I was just slightly over thirty millimetres two days before my first appointment. My surgeon was weirdly particular about that.”

Martin hisses. “No offence but glad not to be you,” he says, “I’m already sick of these as is.”

Jon smacks his thigh lightly. “I was already sick of mine day two so you can imagine how I felt.”

“Yeah, well, you told me you felt practically no pain so who’s the _real_ loser here.”

Jon frowns. “Do you need another paracetamol?” he asks, genuine concern taking priority over the teasing.

“I’m alright, love, don’t worry,” Martin reassures him, and Jon’s sure he can hear him smiling. “It’s been better the past couple days.”

“Alright, just let me know if you need—”

“I will, Jon,” Martin cuts him off, sounding somewhat amused. 

* * *

One morning while boarding a bus to work, someone suddenly grabs Jon’s forearm, causing him to lose balance. He momentarily loses his grasp on Cooper’s lead, only just catching himself on the bus steps. He hears Cooper scamper to his side, ready to act as a brace as he gets up.

“Do you mind?” he snaps over his shoulder.

“I-I’m sorry, I just wanted to help—” 

“You can _help_ by keeping your hands to yourself and letting me go about my business,” Jon says, getting to his feet. 

He turns and boards the bus, having no desire to continue the interaction or block the entrance. Unfortunately for him, the woman finds him again as he takes his seat.

“Sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you fall, I just wanted to help you up the steps,” she says frantically. 

Her tone is tinged with just enough condescension to make Jon’s stomach churn. He has to take a deep breath to keep himself from raising his voice at her. 

“That is the job of my guide dog, who has undergone _training_ to aid me,” he says cooly. “If you see a person who is blind with a service animal, _leave them alone_ , and even if they’re using some other aid, you don’t just _grab_ random people in public. So please, let me make my commute in peace and _never_ grab someone like that again. Understood?”

Jon hears an indignant huff followed by footsteps headed further along the bus. He sets his jaw, slumping against the back of his seat. 

Usually, he doesn’t waste his time on people like that, but when they make a point of trying to draw out the exchange, it can be difficult to hold back. Encounters like this have been less frequent since getting Cooper, but it makes it no less frustrating.

At the very least, he hopes the embarrassment will lead her not to bother others in the future.

* * *

“Ready?”

“Feel a bit like I’m gonna be sick, but yeah, go for it,” Martin says, bracing himself. He makes a small noise of discomfort as the nurse removes his first drain. “Ough, that was _weird_ , what the hell? I _felt_ that come out!”

Jon snickers. “Yes, that tends to happen when something is removed from your body,” he teases.

“Oh shut it, you know what I mean,” Martin retorts. Jon thinks he hears the nurse laugh.

“Alright, almost done,” the nurse says.

“That’s it?” Martin asks, surprised. “It doesn’t need stitches or anything?

“Nope, just apply those antibiotics we gave you and change the bandages twice a day and it should heal on its own,” she says.

“Huh.”

As the nurse moves around to the other side, Jon takes Martin’s hand. There’s a moment of silence, before Martin makes another sound of displeasure, squeezing Jon’s hand slightly.

“There we go! All done.”

“Thank god,” Martin mutters, and Jon smiles, caressing Martin’s hand with his thumb.

“Ready to get a proper look at your new chest?” the nurse asks, and Jon feels Martin tense.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment of hesitation. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Alright, let’s sit you up slowly so you can see in the mirror.”

Jon holds Martin’s hand tightly as the nurse raises up the exam chair. Jon knows the moment Martin sees himself when his grip on his hand tightens, gasping quietly.

“Wow…” he says, swallowing thickly. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Jon smiles softly and strokes the back of his hand calmingly. “Like what you see?” he asks.

“Y-yeah,” Martin replies, voice breaking. He sounds almost breathless. “God, it’s… it’s brilliant.”

“It’s a lot, I know,” Jon says. “In a good way, though.”

“Yeah… a really good way.”

There’s a part of Jon that wishes he himself could properly appreciate Martin’s results, but he knows it’s unimportant. What matters here is that Martin is happy, in which case, so is he.

* * *

“Erm, M-Mr Sims, could I talk to you... privately?”

Jon sets down his lunch, turning toward the student’s voice. “Of course,” he responds with a gentle smile. “Riley, do you think you could step out for a moment?”

“Sure thing,” Riley pipes up from across the room. “I’ll just pop over to the lounge if you need me.”

“Great, thank you,” Jon replies.

He waits until he hears the door shut before continuing. “Now, Amber, was it?

“Yeah, er, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” the student says nervously.

Jon sits up slightly in his chair, having a feeling he knows where this is going. “Okay,” he says. “Would you like to pull up a seat, or—?”

“No, that’s alright I— I don’t want to take up your time.”

“It’s no bother at all, if this is important to you then it’s important to me.”

He hears a shaky exhale followed by quiet footsteps, then the squeak of a chair being moved. Jon smiles.

“So, is there another name you’d like me to call you?”

“Y-yes,” the student says. “I… I go by Jude, but erm, the school won’t update it on the register s-so…”

“Of course, would you like me to ask Riley to make a note of it on the role?”

“Y-yeah, I… you’re the first teacher I’ve told, I only just came out this summer,” Jude says. “Figured since you had the pride flag up you’d be a safe person to start with.”

Jon had hung an intersectional pride flag at the back of his classroom as a quiet way of indicating to his students that he’s a safe person to come to. This is the first time it’s happened, though, and he hopes it won’t be the last.

“Well I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me, I know from experience how difficult it is,” Jon says. “May I ask what pronouns you go by?”

“Y-yeah, I go by t-they/them,” Jude says, their voice breaking a bit. “Sorry, I… most people don’t ask.”

“That’s why I always do,” Jon reassures them. “I’ll let Riley know as well. If your peers or other teachers give you any trouble, you can come to me. I may be new here but I will do anything in my power to help if anyone tries to start something with you.”

Jude sniffles, letting out a small sob, and for a terrible moment, Jon fears he’s overstepped.

“T-thank you, I—” Jude breaks off. “No one’s really gone out of their way to bother me yet but there really aren’t many nonbinary people here so most people just laugh about it. I-it’s just nice to have someone who actually understands.”

“Of course,” Jon says softly.

He grabs the box of tissues from his desk and offers it in Jude’s direction. He waits as they take a few, setting the box back on his desk when he hears them blow their nose.

“Do you like dogs?” Jon asks, and he hears them laugh wetly.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Lovely,” Jon says, smiling. “Well, since I’m not up and moving… Cooper, come!”

Cooper’s nails click against the tile floor as he rises under the desk. Jon feels him brush against his leg as he walks over to Jude.

“Good boy,” Jude says softly.

Jon exhales softly. All the worries he’d had throughout his PGCE training and leading up to the start of the year, lingering doubts about whether or not teaching is the right path for him, suddenly feel so far away.

* * *

The 22nd of September arrives and with it comes Jon’s birthday. Jon takes the day off, feeling confident that he’s on track with his curriculum and can afford to take a day to himself.

Overall, their day isn’t much different from any other weekend spent together. They stay in bed until ten, watch some shows they’ve been meaning to catch up on, and take Cooper on a long walk together. The main difference is that Martin prepares their meals. 

At this point, he’s long since learnt Jon’s favourite dishes, and over the years he’s really honed his cooking skills. His movement is still somewhat restricted, though, so Jon takes it upon himself to fetch items from the higher shelves for him, much to Martin’s amusement. 

That night as they sit in bed, Jon rests his head on Martin’s shoulder as he jots down poems in his journal. Jon gently traces a finger over Martin’s chest, now free from its bandages. It’s a quiet moment, and they’ve shared so many like it, but for whatever reason, this one stands out.

It’s the fourth year he’s properly celebrated his birthday with Martin (fifth if you count the belated celebration Martin insisted on at the safehouse all those years ago), and that thought has stuck with him the entire day.

Just over four years since he’d started celebrating his birthday again, four years since they escaped the Institute, four years since they got together. He never could have imagined this being his life back then, let alone that he’d live to see another four years. The fact he’s been granted this time and allowed to spend it with the love of his life… he could never find the words to describe just how thankful he is.

It’s such a mundane moment, which is why Jon himself is caught off guard by the words that slip past his lips.

“Marry me?”

The world seems to stand still for a moment. Jon can feel his heart pounding away in his chest, but he feels lightheaded, breathless. It’s not a question he had planned to ask, not now. It’s something that’s been at the periphery of his thoughts for a long, long time now, but he’d never been sure how to go about asking. He hasn’t even got a ring. He just knows Martin is the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with, regardless of what the legal definition of their relationship is on paper. 

But now the question is out in the open, completely unprompted, no big build-up or planning or anything. Just them, lying together in bed, just like any other night.

“Say that again?” Martin manages to get out, voice pitching up at the end. 

Jon swallows. “Will you marry me?” he says, voice firmer.

“Are you properly asking? Like, not just as a hypothetical for the future?”

“Yes, Martin,” Jon confirms, nerves beginning to rise. “I’m really asking.”

Martin laughs breathlessly, and before Jon can register what’s happening, Martin’s lips are pressed against his as he shifts them into a sitting position. 

“ _Christ,_ Jon,” he says gleefully as he pulls away. “You’re just— I have a _ring_! I’ve already got a ring, I’ve been waiting for a good opportunity to ask and you and you just—”

Martin breaks off into laughter, and Jon just sits there, processing. “S-sorry?”

“No, don’t apologize you daft— _come here.”_

Jon allows himself to be pulled into another kiss, sinking into Martin’s embrace as the reality of the situation begins to hit him.

“So is that a yes?” he asks as he comes up for air, breathing heavily.

“ _Yes_ , you idiot,” Martin says, exasperated, before pulling him back in.

In the end, maybe it wasn’t such a mundane moment.

**Author's Note:**

> CWs: Medical talk related to top surgery recovery/aftercare/hospitalization, ableism (invasive questions/grabbing without permission), vague mentions of transphobia.
> 
> Thank you all for your support!
> 
> You can find me at @reidspng on Twitter/Tumblr/Instagram!


End file.
